A Notebook for
by Scribbulus
Summary: When life gets hard, and you shut yourself down, having a friend is a good thing.


She sat on the windowsill, her legs drawn towards her chest, head resting against the wall behind her. A bus stopped in the street below, and now it left. Her hands shook, she pulled out the small cardboard box, tapped out a cigarette, and lit it. The long drag she drew from it, calmed the shaking of her hands. She closed her eyes and felt the calm spread to her entire body. It was a nasty habit, really, but it took the edge off, and didn't leave her with a hangover like Firewhiskey did. A man got into a car, in the street below, and sped away.

"Hermione!" She turned her head towards the voice. As always she hadn't registered him entering her flat or calling her name several times before she reacted. Turning her head back to the window, she tilted her head slightly, and watched as a kid sped down the street on his roller skates. Her elbows rested on her knees, the cigarette hung from her fingers, as she moved it to her lips, and took in another long drag.

His hand was on her shoulder, just like yesterday. "I asked you; what have you eaten today?" He frowned at her lack of response. She pointed to the jug of water in front of her feet, and drew a breath through the cigarette.

She looked at him, and shrugged off the robe he had just dropped on her. "No!" looking back down into the street, she felt his hands pull her to stand in front of him. "Yes!" he said, putting the robe around her, tugging her arms through the sleeves, "Even if I have to accio you arse to get you there."

This was the scenario that had been played out every day for the last 4 months, only today was the first day he had brought her to his parents' house.

Being the best in her class meant nothing in the real world. She had gone through Hogwarts, with excellent marks, only to find herself stranded in a world, torn by war, with no real life experience. Helping take down Voldemort didn't earn her the respect and experience to go into working for Rights for Magical Creatures that she needed. Sure she could fight evil, but could she argue the case of an endangered species being deprived of its rights?

After months of trying, she stopped. She stopped trying, she stopped caring, she stopped feeling. Along with those three things, she stopped her everyday life… eating, bathing, sleeping. She had her cigarettes and she had her windowsill.

That's where he had found her, after she had neglected to show up for their weekly lunch together. Weekly lunches they had started after repeatedly running into each other at the same café every Wednesday, him on a break from his work at the bank, and her in her search for a place to work. She hadn't told him about why she couldn't find a job, she didn't know why.

When he had found her in the windowsill that afternoon, the first thing he had done, was picking her up, and put her in the bathtub. "How long have you been sitting there?" he had asked, as he gently rinsed the soap from her hair. She had shrugged her shoulders. "Monday, I think," and she had gone back to staring at the tiles in the bathroom. She didn't care… why should he?

Now she was sitting on the bench outside the Burrow, a place she had spent a lot of times at during earlier years… happy times. She watched the wind gently rock the boughs of the tree in front of her, as she took a drag from her cigarette. "Hermione." The breeze moved a pair of leaves across the yard. "Hey!" She felt him nudge her gently on the shoulder, and turned to look at him. He handed her a small package. She looked at the package, and then back up at him. He rolled his eyes, and gave her a slight smile. "You're supposed to open it." Inside she found a black notebook, a bottle of ink and two eagle-feather quills. "You'll need them," he said. She almost believed him.

"Supper's ready!" she heard his mother call from the house. Gently he took her by her arm, and led her to the dinner table.

Three weeks later, she was still at the Burrow, sitting on the bench in front of the house – the notebook, ink and quills unused beside her – when his mother came and sat down beside her. She had gotten her into a routine at the burrow, including eating, sleeping and bathing – and not nearly as many cigarettes as before. The Burrow seemed to have the same calming effect on her. He would still come by everyday, as soon as he could leave the bank.

"You haven't used it yet," his mother stated. "Why?" She shrugged her shoulders, she didn't know. She looked at the older woman. "I don't know what to write," she told her in a quiet voice. His mother put her arm around her shoulders. "Why don't you just write whatever makes you happy… or smile, or just draws even the faintest smirk from you?" and with that, his mother got to her feet, and disappeared into the kitchen. She looked to the notebook, and then to the water, rippling in the bucket standing in the middle of the yard. Her eyes fell upon a gnome, sprinting across the flowerbed. She picked up the notebook and wrote:

_Gnomes_

She put the notebook down, and went back to observing the gnome, apparently sprinting from a female gnome, who looked rather upset.

The days went by, the scribbles in the notebook grew in numbers. Some days she would write, other days she wouldn't.

_The one eyed chicken looking for corn_

_The fish jumping in the pond_

_The rubber duck in the pond_

He would still come by every day, and she still didn't notice him, until he put his arm around her.

_Warm baths_

_Fluffy towels_

_Arthur's collection of plugs_

_Molly's knitting_

Ron's room… it's orange! 

Every day, they would sit on the bench, in front of the house, until his mother called them in for dinner, and every day, he would gently take her by her arm, and lead her to the dinner table.

_Bacon and eggs_

_Sunrise_

_Fred's laugh_

_George's green eyes_

_Harry's constantly broken glasses_

_Ginny's wrinkles on her nose when she laughs_

_Ron's temper_

_Percy's temper_

_Charlie's hands_

_Sunday mornings' family brunches at the Burrow_

One day, she was sitting on the bench; she looked up, and saw him walking towards the house from across the yard. She got up and ran to him. She wrapped her arms around her waist, put her temple against his chest and hugged him. His heartbeat felt calmed her, it felt safe. She looked up at him and smiled. He put his arm around his shoulder, she put her arm around his waist, and they walked back to the bench. She picked up her notebook and wrote

_Fang earring_

_Long red hair_

_Bill Apparating into the yard in the afternoon_

_Watching the sunset, on the bench with Bill_

_Bill_

She leaned her head against his shoulder. She might not be there just yet… but she was well on her way.


End file.
